Today’s vernaculars published the annual New Year poems of the emperor, the imperial family, and other Japanese leaders. It would be futile to give a direct translation but the emperor speaks of standing in the white mists of morning underneath the plum trees before the shrine while there ris-es a chill and melancholy wind. The Japanese in the chancery were quite depressed over it. “It makes me shiver,” one of them said in a sad hushed voice.
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